Saving Grace
by Genevievey
Summary: Miss Potter. Beatrix is forced to leave for the Lakes, exchanges love letters with her secret fiance, until she is called to London by a distressed Millie. This time, however, she gets there in time.
1. A Journal Entry

**Disclaimer/Author's Note: **_I was disappointed at the lack of 'Miss Potter' fanfiction around, so I began to write one myself. The characters, and small amounts of the dialogue, belong to the filmmakers--although I'm sure Beatrix Potter's spirit would admantly insist that she belongs to herself._

24/12/1902  
Oh, I can scarcely write, yet I feel if I do not release my emotions onto paper I shall simply explode with joy. Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I invited Mr. Warne and Millie to our annual Christmas party. Despite Mother's best attempts to ruin the evening for us (we were all separated at dinner, and Wiggin never left our side) Mr. Warne and I managed to slip away upstairs so that I could show him his Christmas present. He noticed Father's music box, and he knew the words to the song, so I asked him to sing them to me.

As he sang, he held out his hand for mine and before I knew what I was doing we were dancing together. By the time the song was over I could scarcely breathe. Mr. Warne seemed rather affected as well, and my heart pounded as he began to speak. I have never been so terrified nor thrilled in my life. He was halfway through a sweet, stumbling proposal when Mother appeared in the doorway.

Heavens, what dreadful timing! However, I was almost relieved to escape Mr. Warne's gaze, for I don't think I could have found the words to answer him.

The tension between us was unbearable, so I sought Millie. I had to have her approval. To my surprise, she was encouraging, urging me to accept Norman immediately if I loved him, which by then I had realised I do.

As the guests departed, we stole a moment alone, just long enough for me to whisper "Yes." As my parents farewelled Millie and Norman, more passed between us in one smile than a thousand words could ever communicate.

Even now as I write, I am quite overcome, and I still weep with joy. I have never felt anything the way I feel for Norman. All of a sudden, I feel quite ready (in fact I can hardly wait) to become a married woman.

Oh, what a merry Christmas this has been.

Beatrix


	2. A Letter from the Lakes

My dear, dear Norman,

This absurd forced separation is surely a kind of madness, most notably that of my Mother's. But you are hear, my dear, for me. The beauty of this place seems magnified somehow with you in my mind. In my occasional lonely moments I imagine conversations between us.

It is so beautiful here at the Lakes, and so inspiring to the artist. I wish I could capture it all on canvas, but it's splendour could never be done justice by paint and brush. There is so much here I should like to share with you, so many childhood memories. Just yesterday I took a walk by the old bridge where young lovers rendezvous, and couldn't help wishing you were with me.

As lovely as the Lakes are, this past week has seemed an eternity. As I told you at the station, I am sure this shall be the longest summer of my life. I think of you constantly, and cannot wait for the day you shall greet me at the station (and perhaps, if the steam engine is once more obliging, steal another kiss.)

Your Beatrix


	3. A Reply from London

My dearest Beatrix,

All of my thoughts are with you, my darling. I know that you find my brothers terribly boring, but I am having what could almost be described as wild enjoyment working with them. You may wake up one day to find yourself married to a businessman. Praise the day when I can wake up to find you beside me.

My darling, if anyone can capture beauty on canvas, it is you. How I look forward to sharing your favourite places. I wish I could be with you now, at that bridge you mentioned (where we would not need an obliging steam engine).

I am afraid I have very little news for you; it seems without you here in London I lead a terribly dull life. Amelia sends her love, and is eager to hear the contents of your letters (censored, obviously).

I eagerly await your next letter.

Forever yours,

Norman


	4. Another Letter from Miss Potter

My darling Norman,

How pleased I was to hear back from you so soon. Mother seemed most disappointed you had not already forgotten me, and I need hardly say I delighted in escaping to the garden to read your letter in private. It is almost as if I hear your voice in my head—certainly I see your face every time I close my eyes—and I have never been fonder of the British postal service.

I am still enjoying the Lakes, but missing you awfully. I took one of the boats out onto the lake at sunset to watch the water hens feeding. They made noises like kissing. I closed my eyes and pictured you.

On my daily stroll, I met a dear little cat, who I simply had to draw. I've enclosed my sketch of him for you. I believe he may have inspired the idea for my next story, about a very naughty little kitten.

I look forward to hearing from you again.

With love,

your Beatrix


	5. Mr Warne Replies

Darling Beatrix,

I cannot tell you what a thrill I feel upon finding an envelope addressed by your hand. Nor can I describe what joy I feel to see you refer to yourself as my Beatrix. I am most certainly your Norman. It seems I do nothing but think of you these days. Yesterday at the printers, I let my mind wander to you and our bridge at the lake (how odd, I think of it as our bridge, yet I have never seen it) and I most carelessly leaned against the printing press, ruining my jacket.

I am rather embarrassed to think how many times I have reread your letters. Even your handwriting is beautiful, do you know that? I too am growing terribly fond of my postman.

I find I love my heart more now, because that is where I know I can find you. Amelia sends her fond love, and wishes for us all to be together again, as do I multiplied a hundredfold.

I adored your drawing of that naughty little kitten, and I am very curious to know his story. Is he based on someone you know? Sometimes I wish I knew more of the mystery that is your mind. I do not know where all these wonderful stories come from. I am quite sure I am engaged to the most wonderful unique woman in Britain.

I hope you continue to enjoy the Lakes, and I foolishly count the days 'til we shall be together once more. I await your next letter with great anticipation.

Utterly yours,

Norman


	6. A Friendly Stranger

Kissing Norman's letter and tucking it in her pocket, Beatrix smiled as she set off down the lane with her box of paints. It was a lovely day; made more so by Norman's presence in her mind. Lately, she had taken to humming 'Let Me Teach You How To Dance' whenever she thought of her fiancé, which was becoming increasingly frequent.

After wandering through the hills for a while, Beatrix settled down next to a secluded mountain stream, to sketch a little hedgehog. After ten minutes or so, she had become so engrossed in her work that it took her a moment to realise she was not alone. Gentle humming could be heard, a cheerful tune, and then a girl came into view; wading upstream with shoes in hand. Beatrix smiled, she reminded her of her younger self. The girl looked to be about thirteen years of age. Not until she was quite close did she notice Beatrix. Startled at first, the girl nearly lost her balance in the stream.

"Oh, hello," she smiled politely when she'd recovered.  
"I didn't mean to startle you," Beatrix apologised.  
"Oh, no, it's just I haven't met anyone up here except for farmers and animals."  
Beatrix smiled, nodding in understanding. "I like to come up here by myself to think and draw." The girl raised her eyebrows in interest.  
"Are you drawing now?"  
Beatrix nodded.  
"May I see?"  
Beatrix nodded again, opening her sketchbook as the girl stepped up onto the bank, dropping her shoes by the stream. The girl drew a breath as she looked over Beatrix's shoulder. "Goodness, that's beautiful. You're very talented."  
"Thank you. I've always loved to draw, since I was younger than you."  
The girl sat down next to Beatrix, continuing to gaze at the drawing.  
"You've obviously had a lot of practice."  
At that, the woman chuckled. "Yes, I have. What is your name, may I ask?"  
She blushed slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I quite forgot my manners. I suppose I was distracted by your lovely art. My name is Kate Mathers. My family are summering at the Lakes."  
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Kate. My family summer at the Lakes too. My name is Beatrix, Beatrix Potter."  
Kate's eyes widened. "Beatrix Potter? You're not the one who writes those lovely childrens' stories?"  
"I have had a few little books published, yes," replied the woman modestly. Kate beamed, tossing her blonde tresses over her pinafore-clad shouler.  
"Oh, I love your books. I read them to my younger brother before he goes to sleep. Our favourite is 'The Tale of the Two Bad Mice'. I read it to him at least once a week, and we never get sick of it. You're so clever."  
Beatrix blushed, highly flattered by this effusive praise. She had never actually talked to anyone who enjoyed her books. She wasn't quite sure how to react, unused to compliments. "Oh, uh, thank you very much. I'm glad you enjoy them."  
"I should have known you were professional, that drawing is so good. I wish I was as clever as you."

Beatrix liked this girl, and not just because of the praises she lavished. "Do you draw at all?"  
"Sometimes, for the fun of it. I'm hopeless though. I prefer to play piano."  
"Well," the woman smiled, "I'm hopeless at piano playing, so there you have it."  
Kate smiled. "Is your next book going to be about a hedgehog? I don't suppose you can tell me anyway."  
"I'm not quite sure, so no, I can't tell you. Hedgehogs are dear little things though, aren't they?" The girl grinned and nodded eagerly. "They're lovely to draw as well; quite easy. I find drawing people much more difficult."  
Kate shifted to sit more comfortably. "Well, my mother is always telling me that when you're not very good at something, you ought to practice it a lot."  
Beatrix chuckled. "Your mother is probably right."  
The woman reached for her pencil, and began to sketch the girl as they talked. Kate was oblivious to the fact that she was drawn as they chatted away about her little brother, their house in London, her pet guinea pig…

Beatrix stretched, yawning as she placed down her pencil. Kate raised her eyes to the heavens, and noted the setting sun with surprise. "Goodness, it must be late!"  
"Yes," the woman nodded, checking her pocket watch, "It is almost five o'clock."  
"Oh dear, I'd best hurry home, my mother will be frantic."  
"So will mine," Beatrix muttered dryly, observing the girl who hurried to pull on her still-damp shoes. "It has been very nice to make your acquaintance," she smiled, folding the sheet of paper, "and I'd like you to have this."  
Taking the paper, the girl's expression was of curiosity and she made to unfold it. "What is it?"  
"Don't open it until you get home."  
"Alright. Thank you, Miss Potter. Good afternoon."  
"Good afternoon, Kate."

Beatrix smiled as she made her way home through the woods, imagining the girl's reaction when she unfolded the paper later that evening, to find a portrait of herself sketched by her favourite author.


	7. A Final Love Letter

Dearest Norman,

I am terribly sorry I caused you to ruin your jacket, though I must confess I found your story quite endearing.

You are certainly not the only one to reread letters. I carry yours with me wherever I go, and yesterday upon rereading your latest letter I startled a duck with my declaration of love for you.

Give my love to Millie. I miss her company and conversation almost as much as I miss yours.

I am glad you liked my little kitten. I have decided his name is Tom. I think he is largely based on Bertram, my younger brother. He was always running away and getting his good clothes dirty.

By chance I met an old friend today, who showed me a beautiful farm that is for sale. It would be a perfect country home, and though I know we'll live mainly in the city, I'm very keen to share my favourite places with you.

I know that when your next letter arrives I shall have to fight to keep myself from kissing the postman.

With all my love,

your own Beatrix


	8. Dark Clouds Overhead

_Dear Beatrix,_

_Norman asked me to write to you. He is ill, and unable to write himself. He has been bedridden for the past few days. I am sure it would do him good to see you, if you can at all manage a journey to London._

_He doesn't want you to worry, and sends you his dearest love as always, as do I._

_Yours truly,  
__Millie_

* * *

Beatrix fought a cold, clammy feeling inside as she stared listlessly out the window at the rain. She drummed her fingers anxiously on her knee, feeling that if she did not occupy herself somehow she would not be able to contain the wail growing inside her.

He would be alright, of course he would. Beatrix wished Millie had been a little more specific in her letter; she had read it several times for any hint of Norman's condition, to no avail.

It seemed an age before the carriage pulled up at Bedford Square, and the woman practically ran to the door. She was greeted by a grim-looking maid.  
"I'm Beatrix Potter."  
"Come in, miss."

Harold met her in the drawing room. "Miss Potter, how kind of you to come."  
"How is he?" Beatrix no longer cared about keeping her tone detached.  
Harold was saved from having to answer, as Millie entered the room. She went to her friend immediately, and they embraced.  
"Oh Beatrix, it is so good to see you. Norman will be so pleased."  
"I don't think Norman is well enough to take visitors."  
With a stern gaze to her brother, Millie shepherded her best friend towards the bedroom. "This way, Beatrix."  
As they left, Harold frowned, puzzled. He would not be puzzled for long.


	9. Passing Danger

Beatrix tried to steel herself, but she could not help the tears welling in her eyes as she found her fiancé in bed. He had his eyes closed, a wet flannel across his forehead, and he looked exhausted. He coughed as they entered, opening his eyes slowly. As soon as his eyes were in focus, his tired face split into a smile.

"Beatrix! You—You're here!"  
Millie rushed to her brother as he attempted to sit up. "Don't try to get up, Norman."  
"Oh, Norman!"  
Beatrix rushed to kneel at his bedside, clasping one of his hands in hers as he cupped her cheek with the other.  
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he murmured hoarsely, with a tired grin. The woman couldn't help but smile at that, kissing the hand that stroked her cheek. They had not had the luxury of such fond caresses before, but the situation rendered everything else irrelevant.  
"I came as soon as I heard. I've worried so."  
"I told Amelia to tell you not to worry. Besides, I'm all the better for seeing you."

His reassurance was contradicted by the hacking cough that rose from his chest. Beatrix cringed at the sound of it, handing him a glass of water. He took a sip, coughed a little more, then relaxed back against the downy pillow.  
"I'm sorry to pull you away from your family and the Lakes, darling."  
The woman shook her head with a smile, unable to tear her eyes from her beautiful, suffering fiancé. "No, I'm glad to be with you. Are you feeling any better?"  
"I'll be fine, now that you're here."  
He coughed again, and Millie reached for a damp flannel on the bedside table, handing it to Beatrix who began to mop his fevered brow. Norman smiled wearily and closed his eyes.

"Beatrix," began Millie tentatively, "Harold and Fruing and Mother will be confused as to why you came all this way just to see your publisher. I think you'll have to tell them everything now."  
Beatrix nodded. Although she was a little worried as to how they would take it, and how her mother would react when she knew the secret was out, it would be a relief to have the burden lifted. But right now, when she already felt torn apart by the stress of Norman's illness? Millie's eyes shone with understanding.  
"I could go and tell them, if it would make things easier. You stay with Norman."  
Beatrix gave her friend a smile of sincere gratitude. "Thank you, Millie."  
Her future sister-in-law squeezed her hand supportively, then departed.

As the door clicked shut, Norman stirred.  
"Thank you for your letters," he murmured, "I keep them under my pillow."  
Beatrix smiled tearily at that, feeling absurdly that he was a little boy in need of care. "Don't talk, save your strength."  
"At least let me look at you, then. I've missed you, Beatrix."  
"And I've missed you. Oh, this is all my fault; if you hadn't gone to see me off in the rain—"  
"Oh tosh!" He coughed, then continued, "It was my decision, and I'd do it again. Short term benefit, I got to see you before you left, and in the long term it meant I have you back by my side now."  
Beatrix shook her head, bemused and endeared by his unfailing optimism. "Well, if I promise to stay right here by your side, will you try and get some sleep?"  
"Anything to please you, Miss Potter," he snuggled down in an exaggerated show of obedience, just a hint of the old sparkle in his eye.

Beatrix lost track of the time, sitting by her fiancé's bedside, but it was some time later that Millie entered on tiptoe.  
"Is he sleeping?" she whispered, closing the door carefully behind her.  
"Yes, at last."  
"I explained the situation to Mother and Harold and Fruing. They were surprised—well, my brothers more than Mother, actually—but they're not upset. Perhaps you could go out and talk to Mother." Seeing her friend's look of apprehension, Millie smiled. "Don't worry. She likes you. I'll take care of Norman."

Mrs. Warne was sitting in the parlour, with a cup of tea. When Beatrix entered, she looked up with a smile.  
"Miss Potter, how good to see you. How is Norman doing?"  
"He is very tired, but not quite as bad as I feared."  
The old lady smiled knowingly, "Yes, the imagination can be wicked. Especially when one has much to lose."

Taking a seat, Beatrix bit her lip anxiously. She wasn't sure she could handle a conversation in double entendre. "Mrs. Warne, I hope you understand," she began, babbling a little, "You see, my parents were convinced that my feelings were just a brief passion that would pass in time, and wanted to save me the embarrassment of breaking an engagement. I am relieved now that all is out in the open, and…I hope you do not share my parents' disapproval of the match."

Mrs. Warne chuckled over her teacup. "Not in the least, my dear. Reluctant as I was to see Norman leave me to work at the firm, I have noticed a change in him, a positive one. I was not entirely without suspicions as to its cause either, and I am pleased to have my suspicions confirmed."

"Oh," said Beatrix, as she could think of nothing remotely sensible to say.  
"Furthermore, I am sure that your presence will assist Norman's recovery, and give Millie someone to turn to. Please feel free to stay with us while your parents remain at the Lakes. You are, after all, or very soon will be, one of the family."

As the old lady's kind smile met her own, Beatrix was quite overwhelmed with gratitude, and relief, and exhaustion. Despite valiant efforts, she burst into tears.  
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Warne cooed sympathetically, handing her a handkerchief, "It will all be alright."  
"Oh, forgive me. Thank you for your kindess."  
"Not at all. Now, let's get you a cup of tea, and then I think you could do with some sleep yourself."  
"But," Beatrix sniffed in protest, "I should be with Norman. I promised him I'd stay by his side."  
"You cannot nurse him if you are ill yourself," Mrs. Warne's tone was firm, and sensible, "Just doze off here on the sofa, and I'll wake you in an hour or so."  
Another wave of gratitude washing over her, Beatrix allowed herself to be seated on the cushions and covered in a blanket by the maid.  
"Thank you."

When Beatrix woke two hours later, she felt a little groggy, but much stronger. It was dinnertime, and she brought Norman his tray.  
"Are you hungry?"  
"I could eat a little, perhaps," he nodded, propping himself up against the pillows."Your mother has offered me a room here until my parents return," Beatrix began conversationally as he scooped a spoonful of peas with considerable effort.  
"Wonderful. You know, I'm almost grateful to this cough; it's brought you back to me."  
"Now that's just ridiculous," she scolded.  
"Yes, but doesn't love make fools of us all?"

The tenderness Beatrix felt at that declaration was immediately replaced with amusement as she noticed a smear of gravy dripping from his moustache.  
"Yes, and your dinner is making a fool of you," she laughed, reaching to wipe it away. Realising, Norman began to laugh too, but it soon became a cough. His fiancé grimaced with guilt as she lifted the tray from his lap so that he could cough without upturning it. She would be more careful in future; she had to take care of him.

Beatrix stayed by his beside all night, mopping his brow and holding his hand and just being there in case he woke in need. Millie sat with her, allowing her to doze off occasionally without fear. She was so grateful to have a friend in this time; she felt she might have gone insane without someone to turn to. The night seemed endless, black and full of danger. Beatrix felt like a vulnerable little girl, sitting terrified in the dark. What if she lost him? She could not lose him. The night was the worst time for Norman, he tossed and turned and his fever rose. Beatrix clutched his hand tightly, willing and praying that he would make it. She _could not_ lose him.

But finally the chirping of robins met her ears, and she heaved a sigh of relief as dawn filtered through the curtains. Norman was sleeping peacefully now. It would be all right. Millie stirred, and Beatrix allowed her eyes to close.


	10. Rays of Sunshine

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to those two readers who have favourited and 'alert'ed this story. I hope you enjoy this next chapter (and if you feel so inclined, a brief review would be very much appreciated!)_

After that night, Norman seemed to improve. His cough became less deep, and his temperature dropped a little. Beatrix spent days at his beside, talking and reading to him. The entire household watched his progress with hesitant hope, and when he finally ventured out of his bedroom in a wheelchair it was cause for celebration.

He was not quite strong enough to stand yet, but the doctor had suggested that fresh air would benefit his lungs, and so Millie wheeled him out into the garden one sunny afternoon. It was a pleasant scene for Mrs. Warne to observe from her seat in the parlour; Beatrix stretched out on a bench next to Norman's chair, apparently sketching, while Millie tended her flowers and conversed with her brother.

"Aren't my magnolias doing well, Norman?"  
"Marvellously. Are you drawing them, Bea?"  
Beatrix shook her head with a mischievous smile, refusing to reveal the subject of her latest sketch. Millie began to hum as she watered the soil.  
"You're frightfully cheerful, Millie," her brother teased.  
"Indeed I am. So cheerful that I will actually break off one of my beautiful flowers for you," she smiled, picking a bright orange magnolia and tucking it behind Norman's ear. He turned his head to show Beatrix, looking so utterly ridiculous that she burst into laughter and had to erase a mistake in her drawing.  
"I think perhaps it might please more eyes _here_," Norman grinned, removing the flower from behind his ear and tucking it in Beatrix's hair.

Millie turned her attention to the garden as they shared a lover's smile; she did feel rather like a third wheel sometimes, but she knew they did their best to include her. Once certain their moment had ended, Millie wandered around to stand behind Beatrix and gaze down at her drawing.  
"Oh Beatrix, that's marvellous! A perfect likeness! But I can't think why the change from drawing animals."  
Ignoring her friend's teasing tone, Beatrix replied with a smile, "Well, while at the Lakes I met someone who told me that if you're not very good at something, you ought to practice it a lot."

"The suspense is killing me," said Norman, shifting in his chair, "I must stand up and see what you've drawn."  
The two women immediately began to protest, rushing to him.  
"No, Norman! You're not strong enough to walk yet!"  
"Norman, wait. You'll need help."  
"Well," the young man replied, accepting Beatrix's offer that he might lean on her as he made to stand, "I am currently not very good at walking, so I ought to practice it a lot." Laughing in spite of herself, Beatrix mused that this sort of practice, with his arm around her shoulders as she leaned on her, was not tiresome in the least.  
"I shall go practice conversing with Mother without vexing her," Millie smiled knowingly as she left them alone in the garden.

"Now, the entire point in my standing up was to see what you've drawn," Norman insisted, and reluctantly Beatrix raised the sketchbook from her side. The young man gazed down in awe at a lovingly-drawn sketch of his likeness.  
"My…That's beautiful. I mean, as beautiful as a drawing of the subject matter could be." Beatrix rolled her eyes at his modesty. Surely he knew full well how handsome he was. "Yes, well, I wanted to practice my drawing of people, and this provided an excuse to stare at you."

Norman chuckled, flattered, as they stumbled slowly towards the garden bench. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but could probably have managed without his arm around Beatrix (but she didn't need to know that). He awkwardly sat down on the bench with her assistance, missing her touch the instant she pulled away.  
"Have you ever done a self-portrait?"  
"Never. I like to draw things that catch the eye."  
Norman frowned at her self-depreciation. "You catch my eye extremely frequently; you are the most eye-catching woman I know. Beautiful, in fact."  
Blushing a little, she lowered her eyes, not sure how to receive the compliment.  
"If you ever _do_ a self-portrait, be sure to give it to me. I love this," he gestured to the sketch, "but it would be rather odd to have a picture of myself by my bedside, wouldn't it?" Beatrix laughed at that.  
"Then you won't mind if I keep this one?" She smiled at him as she tore the page from her sketchbook, folded it and tucked it in her pocket, next to her heart.  
"I'll only part with it for a price…" His eyes sparkled.  
"And what would you demand, sir?"  
"One self-portrait of yourself…and a kiss."

Beatrix's eyes widened in surprise, and her first reaction was to blush and look around to ascertain that they were alone. The kiss he had stolen at the train station had been pleasantly surprising, but it was somehow more embarrassing to give a kiss than have one stolen. Scolding herself internally for being afraid, Beatrix leaned in slowly. Her eyelids fluttered closed, she could feel his breath on her lips, then…

Beatrix squealed in surprise as something crashed behind them. Turning around, they recognised the disruption to be a striped rubber ball that had escaped over the garden wall and landed in a flower pot. Norman began to laugh, and Beatrix too, getting to her feet and retrieving the invader. Young voices could be heard from the other side of the wall.

"Oh dear, that was my favourite ball!"  
"I hope you didn't break a window, Charlie. I'll go over and ask for it back."

Sharing an amused smile with her fiancé, Beatrix made to leave the garden. "I'll go and return this…"

Beatrix closed the front gate behind her, tossing the ball from one hand to the other as she waited for a child to retrieve it. After a moment, a girl came running out of the neighbouring gate and came to a halt in front of Beatrix. Their eyes widened as they recognised each other.

"Oh…Miss Potter."  
"Why, hello Kate," the woman beamed, pleasantly surprised to recognise the child she had met that day at the Lakes. "I believe you might be looking for _this_?"  
She nodded sheepishly, taking the ball. "Yes, thank you, my brother accidentally threw it over the wall. I hope it didn't break anything?"  
Beatrix shook her head with a secret smile, thinking of what it _had_ interrupted.  
"Oh, that's a relief then. How funny that we've been neighbours all this time and never known."  
"Well, I don't actually live here. I'm staying with a friend."  
"Oh, well that's nice. We just arrived home from the Lakes yesterday."  
"I came home early," explained Beatrix. "My friend was ill."  
"Oh dear, I hope she's better now!"  
"_He_ is feeling much better," the woman assured her, puffing up a little with pride as the status of their 'friendship' dawned on Kate.  
"Well, I'm pleased," the girl beamed, as much because she was pleased Miss Potter _had_ such a friend as she was to hear that he was no longer ill.

"In fact," Beatrix mused, "I'm sure he'd like to meet you. Do come in and let me introduce you."  
"Oh, I'd like that very much," Kate beamed, "if it wouldn't be an imposition. Do you think perhaps I might bring my brother Charlie along too, and introduce him?"  
"But of course. Pop around in a minute or two."  
A smile of sincere pleasure passed between them, then the girl scampered off to fetch her brother. _Rather like a kitten scampering towards a bowl of cream,_ Beatrix thought to herself, with a smile.

Norman had just had the situation explained to him when the maid entered the garden to announce a Miss Kate Mathers and a Mister Charles Mathers.  
"Kate, this is Mr. Norman Warne, my…fiancé," Beatrix beamed, after a momentary pause as she wondered how she ought to introduce him—fiancé, publisher, the man who had been about to kiss her? She really ought to stop dwelling on that, it was most imprudent.

"And this must be Charlie."  
"Good day, sir. I'm sorry about the ball."  
Norman grinned, endeared by the little blonde boy. "Not at all, good chap. I'm only interested in what you were playing; I was always fond of ball games as a boy."  
"We were playing piggy-in-the-middle," Charlie replied, "with the garden wall."  
"I'm taller than Charlie so he has to bounce the ball quite high up the wall to beat me," Kate added, by way of explanation, and the adults nodded.

At this point Millie entered, and having had the situation explained to her by the maid, she was ready to greet the visitors.  
"Hello; I understand you're our neighbours. I'm Millie, pleased to meet you."  
As she shook their hands with openness and joviality, Beatrix chuckled at her disinclination to bother with social niceties. The Matherses were invited to stay for tea, and a jolly afternoon was spent in conversation over tea and crumpets.

"Thank you ever so much for having us for tea," said Kate earnestly, "and we _are_ sorry about the ball, aren't we?"  
"Oh, yes," agreed Charlie, although he was more interested in licking the remaining treacle from his lips.  
"We'd be delighted to have you all for tea sometime," Kate continued, probably echoing what she had heard her mother say to guests. Beatrix and Millie shared a smile.  
"We should like that very much. And then you can play the piano for us all."  
"Oh no, well, if you insist," Kate coloured at the thought, then bid them a fond farewell and shepherded her younger brother out of the house.

"What dear children," Millie smiled, beginning to clear away the teacups, and Beatrix cocked her head in interest as she realized she had never seen Millie with children before. She had not realized her friend had a fondness for them, but since this afternoon that was clear.

"It's getting colder; you had best get inside, Norman," Millie chided her brother, who was looking very comfortable on the garden bench.  
"Alright then…Beatrix, would you help me?"

She fought to check a smile as he placed an arm around her shoulders for 'support'. But Beatrix could not check her blush as she noticed that his gaze was fixed on her adoringly, and she was surprised how vehemently she wished that the maid had not entered to clear away the tea things, for she might have given Norman his kiss.

_Oh well_, she sighed to herself,_ no doubt there will be plenty of opportunities in the future. And in the meantime…oh, I love the way he looks at me!_


	11. An Idyllic Ending

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: As you'll notice, it's been a good four years since I last updated this fic - these days I'm at university, and don't have much spare time for fanfiction. However, a kind review (from a MissEffieTrinket) reminded me of this, and when I looked back through my folders, I found a completed but unpublished chapter._

_This doesn't continue on directly from the last chapter posted (as you can probably guess, I had intended back then to fill out the progress of Beatrix & Norman's courtship a bit more) - but I skipped ahead and wrote a Final Chapter for them, and since it's written, I may as well put it out here for anyone to read. (I hope it makes up for those missing chapters inbetween!) Enjoy!_

* * *

Norman Warne stirred, and slowly opened his eyes. The room was lit golden, sunshine through the window. The next thing he noticed was a pleasant weight, warm and smooth, against his side. He turned his head a little so that his cheek rested on the cool linen, and his gaze fell upon the lady who, as of yesterday, was Mrs. Norman Warne. A smile curved his mouth as he stared in wonder, drinking in every detail of the woman beside him; her hair fell about her shoulders, tousled…her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath…one slender arm draped across him…

"Praise the day," he murmured, touching her rosy cheek.

Beatrix's eyelids fluttered, and she yawned. When she was fully conscious, she found her new husband gazing at her in adoration. At the sight of him she smiled, and lay back against the pillow, as though relieved to find that she had not dreamt the night before.

"Good morning, my darling wife."  
At that last adjective, the woman glowed, and snuggled closer to him. "Good morning, husband."

Norman grinned and wrapped both arms around her with a contented sigh. She nuzzled the side of his neck while he ran a hand through her dark hair. He closed his eyes to better enjoy the warmth of their close bodies, the tickle of her breath on his neck, the smoothness of her skin.  
"I've dreamed of this," he murmured, at length.  
Beatrix raised her eyes to gaze up at him. "Does reality meet your expectations?"  
"It far surpasses them," he replied, and kissed her forehead. There was another period of silent contentment.

"You know," began Beatrix, "I had thought that I was terribly eager to show you my favourite places, but right now I can't think of a single more agreeable activity than lying here with you."  
"Perhaps _this_ is one of your favourite places," her husband quipped, and she laughed, swatting him playfully on his bare shoulder.  
"I'm afraid I may not be able to deny it."

"Well, what say we lie here a little longer, and then after breakfast you can give me a guided tour of your beloved Lake District."  
"Oh yes," Beatrix smiled, gazing out the window at the greenery, "I must show you the woods, and the creek, and the dear little bridge, and—"

In her eagerness, she sat up and made to climb out of bed, but was quickly intercepted by Norman, who grabbed her around the waist and playfully pulled her back.  
"Don't be in such a rush, my dear," he grinned, tapping her lightly on the nose. "You are cruel to deprive me of one more embrace on the first morning of our married life."  
Beatrix would be anything rather than cruel, so gave her husband a particularly warm embrace, accompanied by a sweet, lazy kiss.  
"Are you quite satisfied?" she asked, teasingly, when she at last pulled back.  
He could not keep the degree of his 'satisfaction' from showing on his face, but still Norman attempted to continue their banter, replying archly, "For the moment."

Some time later in the day, one path in the lush woods echoed with laughter. A couple strolled, arm in arm, gazing in turn at their beautiful surroundings and each other.

"I daresay it wasn't quite the high society wedding my mother planned, but it was lovely wasn't it?"  
"Entirely. Millie was so honoured to be your maid of honour, and did you see her with the little flower girl?"  
"Ah yes, my cousin Alice. They were quite a jolly pair. Oh heavens, I do believe this is where Bertram and I built a fort once," Beatrix exclaimed, indicating a large old tree. As his wife circled the tree, running a hand fondly over its bark, Norman admired their surroundings.

"How beautiful this all is…What I've missed, being cooped up in London! If it weren't for the necessity of working I believe I could live happily at Hilltop forever. We'd have to visit Bedford Square at Christmas, of course."  
Turning back to face his wife, he found her smiling at him with a fondness that nearly melted him. She took the arm he offered, pressed her shoulder against his affectionately as they strolled together.

"Ah, here it is," Beatrix called over her shoulder, beckoning Norman on, "the little bridge!"  
Catching her up, Norman came to a halt before a quaint little wooden bridge, which crossed a brook as it joined the lake. His lovely wife leant against it with a smile, gauging his reaction. He strolled slowly onto the bridge to join her.

"Didn't you once tell me in one of your letters that this is the bridge where lovers rendezvous?"  
"I believe I did," the woman smiled as her husband stepped closer to brush a strand of hair out of her face.  
"Do newlyweds count as lovers?"  
"They are the very epitome," Beatrix murmured, and a moment later she was silenced by his lips over hers.

It was well that the only observer was a curious hedgehog, for their kiss was not one of the paltry pecks tolerated by propriety, but a kiss that was long, and warm, and fervent. When they did part, Norman smiled down at his breathless wife.

"You know, you're right. This place is idyllic. How long do you think we could extend our honeymoon without inviting slander?"  
"Let them slander," Beatrix replied freely, throwing her arms about his neck. He laughed and hugged her close, burying his nose in her hair.

"Now, you said you'd let me take you out in one of those boats. Come along, Miss P—"  
Realizing his mistake, he paused, and a twin smile lit their faces.  
"Mrs. Warne."  
Unable to contain a girlish giggle, Beatrix grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him along the lane, to explore more of her world.

**_Fin._**


End file.
